4.19.2014

In the name of brunching, a worthy pastime any time of the year, but especially for holidays (Easter, Mother's Day), you owe it to yourself to give these potatoes a shot. As great minds often think alike, Karen (SUNDAY SUPPERS) and I both have version of these in our repertoire; head over to her site to see how she does it (roasted, all the way though). I love to throw my potatoes into a pot to boil or even steam quickly so they're super fast, and then give them a finish in the oven for the crispy edges that make these so spectacular. Whatever way you roast and smash, these are as easy as they are irresistible.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Wash the potatoes well
and put them in a small pot with enough water to cover; bring to
a boil. Cook until the potatoes are fork tender, about 20 minutes. Drain and
pay very dry. Smash each one on a cutting board with your fist or a small
frying pan to make it flat (it will crack, but should mostly stay in one piece).

Lay them on a baking sheet in one even layer. Brush or
drizle them with olive oil, and season lightly with salt and pepper. Flip and repeat. Add the rosemary
and garlic to the pan and roast in the oven until crispy and golden on
the outside, 20 to 25 minutes, rotating the pans from the top to the bottom rack
half way through. Remove from the oven, and sprinkle generously with
parsley, black pepper and sea salt. Serve warm.

3.30.2014

When my lovely friend KAREN MOREDECHAI, of SUNDAY SUPPERScalled me about collaborating on another event, this time, a winter brunch, we had no idea just how L O O O O O N G winter would be, and how sorely it needed a send off. What we did know is that we always have a wonderful time together, particularly when we are in the company of such gracious, eager guests, ready to get their hands in the mix and cook up a sumptuous feast. This one stars some of her recipes (get excited: she has a gorgeous book coming out next year!) and some of mine (from my newly James-Beard-nominated cookbook FEAST and THE NEWLYWED COOKBOOK). Here's a few simple moments from the day. She was the one behind a real camera, and you'll find her dreamy images on her site today, SUNDAY SUPPERS, and all week. Come visit us both in the coming days for recipes, for these brunch treats are just as lovely for saying hello to S P R I N G.

3.20.2014

enough with winter already. but, it wouldn't be fair to bid it adieu without a nod to the winter reds that have kept us nourished these many long months. || gratitude to these winter stapes, and to talented photographer Yunhee Kim who shot these two images for Feast.xo

2.08.2014

When it comes to holidays, my mom is A+. She’s never missed
a year of making black eyed peas for New Year’s or corned-beef and hash on St.
Patrick’s day. Though her Easter baskets never sported the live bunny I always hoped for, they were top-notch. Solid
chocolate bunnies? Duh. She has a wooden Santa display to rival the Macy’s
windows, and don’t get me started on her birthday cakes. Legendary. But
strangely, though I’d never claim Valentine’s day as my favorite holiday today,
if I had to pick one holiday past to pop in on, February 14 might actually be
it.

Perhaps it’s because, for the most part, Valentine’s was
just another ordinary day—a Tuesday, a Thursday, a Friday in midwinter. It was
usually a school day, which meant it would have been easy enough to overlook. But
without fail, when we came down to breakfast on that day each year, there would
be heart-shaped pancakes, and tiny surprises at each of our places—simple
things like I love you stickers or sometimes
candy hearts, that graduated to tiny gold heart earrings or pink nail polish
from year to year.

My mom wasn’t a note-in-the-lunchbox kind of mom; managing laundry,
three meals, school projects, dance classes and every other detail of a family
of six was her daily, tangible love note. But to this day, on Valentine’s day
there is always a note from my mom—in the lunchbox, or now, the mailbox, making
me feel—strike that—know that in a world that isn’t often quick to love, a
mother always is.

As much as I love my hubby (and yes, we’ve had some sweet
valentine’s dates), this year, for the first time ever, I’ve been irrationally
excited about Valentine’s day, mama-style. The other day, I was even lured into
a tacky dime store by the sparkly pink display, and left with a sack full of
hearts in every form. I’ve been imagining a valentine’s tea for Greta and her
3-year-old playmates, a sweet, heart-shaped-pancake breakfast on Friday and a
week’s worth of love-note-laden lunches. Truth: the party probably won’t
happen—at least not this year. And, on a weekday, we’re lucky to get
hard-boiled eggs eaten before we all have to rush out the door. But the
thing about a mother’s love, or any real love for that matter, is that it’s
never reserved for just one day.

In the end, Valentine’s is just another reminder to slow
down and cherish someone. To take the time to hang tacky hearts in the window,
however crookedly, if it means standing behind your little one, arms around them with your cheeks
practically touching as she explains the way she sees the world. It means
giving in to that one more book
before naptime, even though you’re bloody exhausted, or taking a walk
hand-in-hand in the bitter cold until you reach the end of the street, where
the church bells chime and manage to almost stop time. It means baking your
beloved’s favorite sweet, and pulling out the heart-shaped cookie
cutters to make them just a touch
more special, as if anything you do out of love could be more special at all.
Because that’s what we do when we love—we keep trying, and praying if we need
to, to outdo ourselves. To love more and better and harder and more purely than
we thought we ever could.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Lightly butter a 9 by
13-inch pan and line it with parchment paper with flaps overhanging two edges.
Butter the parchment paper.

Whisk together the flours, oats, baking powder and salt in a
medium bowl and set aside.

Beat together the butter and sugars in a large bowl with an
electric mixer until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Beat in the egg and the
yolk. Add the flour mixture and slowly stir together, scraping the bottom of
the bowl to get all the butter or floury bits.

Layer about 2/3 of the dough into the baking pan, pressing
into an even layer. Spread the preserves evenly over the top. Drop the
remaining dough in small clumps to the cover the jam, letting a little jam peek
through. Sprinkle with the nuts.

Bake until the dough is set and golden, about 45 to 50 minutes.
Cool slightly in the pan, about 5 minutes, and then use the parchment to lift
the bars onto a flat surface. Use a heart-shaped cutter, or several of them (I
use all different sizes) to cut the bars into shapes, keeping them as close
together as possible. This works best while the bars are slightly warm. Let them cool lightly in the cutters before removing and cutting out more (the bars set and firm as they cool). Cool completely and serve with coffee or tea.

p.s. minus the sugar (there's admittedly a bunch) these are pretty wholesome—full of whole grains and nuts—so I feel a-okay about sending these as Greta's school sweet in her lunchbox this week. use whatever wholegrain flours you have, and skip the nuts if allergies are an issue.

12.30.2013

On the morning we brought Greta home
from the hospital, November 4, 2010, we went straight to our neighborhood
bakery, Astor Bake Shop. I know, lots of mothers don't leave the house with
their newborns until they are solidly three months old, but I was not only very hungry,
but way too excited to sit at home (don't worry, she's as healthy as an
ox).

I remember everything about that day:
how teeny Greta was, all 7 pounds of her, in her fleecy white coat, curled
into my chest; the way everyone at the bakery pointed and stared (look, a
brand newborn); the way the air felt, cool and sweet and
full of possibility; and, every enormously delicious morsel of my almond
croissant – the first real food I had eaten for
nearly 48 hours.

If you've never had the pleasure of
enjoying an almond croissant, here's what you should know: they’re like manna
from heaven. Though almond croissants are generally a pastry chef's trick to make
day-old-croissants new again (split the croissant, spread it with almond crème
and bake until golden brown and intoxicatingly fragrant), they're always my number one pick in a pastry counter. I can think of no greater
food with which to end, or start, a brand new year.

A good or even amazing almond
croissant is easy to come by in Paris or New York, but elsewhere, say, in the
tiny upstate New York town where we're spending our New Years, you have to make
your own. Believe me, it is well worth the tiny effort.

Here’s my recipe, bar none one of my
favorites from Feast(p.s. if you don't have croissants, this works on day-old bread, too).

ALMOND CROISSANTS | SERVES 6

1 recipe almond cream (see below)

6 day-old croissants, halved crosswise

Skin-on sliced almonds, for
sprinkling

Powdered sugar, for serving

Preheat the oven to 375°F/190°C. Line
a baking sheet with parchment paper. Divide all but 1/3 cup/75 ml of the almond
cream over the bottom halves of the croissants. Cover with the top halves,
using your hand to flatten the croissants just slightly. Spread more almond
cream over the top of the croissants with an offset spatula, leaving some of
the edges bare. Sprinkle with almonds.

Bake on the prepared baking sheet
until the cream is cooked through and the top is golden brown, about 20
minutes, covering the top with foil if needed to prevent overbrowning. Dust
generously with powdered sugar. Serve warm or at room temperature.

ALMOND CREAM | aka frangipane

Almond cream, or frangipane, is a
sweetened ground-almond or almond flour base for desserts, pies, tarts, and
more.

1/2 cup unsalted room-temperature
butter

1/2 cup unbleached sugar

1 cup ground almonds or almond flour

1 large egg plus 1 egg yolk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 tablespoons oat flour or
all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Cream together butter and sugar until
light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add ground almonds or almond flour and beat
together. Add in the egg and egg yolk, one at a time, and then the vanilla
extract. Stir in the flour and sea salt, scraping the bottom for any dry
or unmixed bits, until the mixture is evenly fluffy and smooth.

Store in a container with an airtight
lid in the fridge for up to 2 weeks. (Makes enough for 6 croissants or 6 almond toasts)

12.29.2013

Let’s get one thing out of the way
first: Is there anything cuter than a toddler in long johns? Where we’ve been
for the last week or so—in upstate New York and then in my hometown, Rockford,
IL, it’s snowed for days on end, so Greta has practically lived in hers (you
can buy these cute polka dot numbers here). As useful as long johns are under snow
pants, paired with an apron, they also make a great post-snow-romp pancake-making uniform.

These days in our house, there's only one kind of pancake: Swedish pancakes. In Rockford, where every third person is a Johnson, Swanson or Larson, Swedish pancakes are near-obligatory weekend fare. We ate them every Sunday after church for as long as I can remember, tucked into a booth at Stockholm Inn where my dad would make the rounds from table to table, visiting all his patients (mostly Johnsons, Swansons and Larsson) while we waited for our short stacks served with ligonberries, hash browns and a side of poached eggs.

Back in New York, where we are today, there is no Stockholm Inn. Since András Swedish pancake devotion treads on dissidence (after all, Hungarians have their own belovedpalicsinta), Greta and I rely on the recipe Paul Norman contributed to my third-grade-class cookbook many moons ago (thank you Paul, wherever you are). A slightly tweaked version appeared in my new cookbook, Feast, and has inspired our post snow-romp, pre-church Swedish pancake fever three weeks running. We can’t stop.

Expect more reasons to don long johns and aprons yourself later this week (hint: almond croissants), but for now, happy Sunday.

SWEDISH PANCAKES | SERVES 4

2 cups/480 ml milk

3 eggs

5 tablespoons/75 ml melted butter, plus for cooking

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Pinch fine sea salt

1 cup/125 g sifted all purpose flour

Combine milk, eggs, melted butter, vanilla and salt in a blender and pulse until smooth. Add the flour, a little at a time and blend to a smooth batter, about the consistency of heavy cream.

Preheat a crepe pan or a flat griddle pan over medium heat. (When the water dropped onto the griddle sizzles, it is ready). Brush the griddle lightly with butter.

Pour the batter into thin pancakes, twirling a crepe pan to coat with a thin layer of batter (or, if you’re using a griddle pan, use an offset spatula to quickly smooth into a thin, even layer). Cook until the batter turns dull and slightly brown on one side, about 3 minutes. Use a fork or the offset spatula to roll each pancake into a cylinder and transfer to the plate to hold. (if you prefer, let the rolled pancakes sit on the griddle to brown slightly on both sides before removing to a plate). Serve warm with butter and maple syrup, or lingonberry jam.

Swedish pancakes can be round, if you have a non-stick or cast-iron crepe pan with a thin lip, or square, if you’re using a flat grill pan. What’s important is to use a well-seasoned, non stick pan since these tear easily (unlike French crepes, which can often be flipped without tearing).

12.13.2013

If you really want to make a friend, go to someone's house and eat with him.the people who give you their food given you their heart. | Cesar Chavez.

Whenever people learn that I'm a professionally-trained cook, the first thing they ask, almost always, is "what's your specialty?" Until fairly recently, I might have said something like healthful, indulgent, French-Italian-inspired farm-to-table fare. But probably my biggest specialty of all is fast. And, easy. Because life is always full to the brim, there's very little time for fussy technique in my kitchen, even, or perhaps especially when I'm entertaining, when fussy cooking would be too big a distraction from the wonderful people around me.
Enter this salad: crispy broiled chickpeas, kale and broccolini (the skinny, fast-cooking cousin of broccoli) topped with luscious dollops of ricotta. It's both easy and inspiring, and a befitting starting point to a meal celebrating my new book, at Sunday Suppers, the beautiful dinner (and photography!) studio of my friend Karen Mordechai.
Because all the magic happens in the oven under the broiler, this is a salad you can make while talking, pouring wine, setting the table or, say, making friends with the 20 wonderful, gracious guests we had Sunday night. I hope to see them all again. In the meantime, here's the salad recipe, for your next feast.

ROASTED BROCCOLINI, KALE + CHICKPEA SALAD WITH RICOTTA | SERVES 4

1 bunch broccolini, or broccoli, cut into long florets

1 bunch Tuscan or Lacinato kale, stemmed (if large) and torn

1½ cups/240 g cooked chickpeas (see below) or canned, drained

1 clove garlic, thinly sliced

¼ cup/60 ml extra-virgin olive oil, plus for drizzling

sea salt and freshly ground black pepperpinch red pepper flakes

1 lemon, cut into wedges

8 oz/250 g fresh ricotta cheese

Preheat the broiler to high. Toss the broccolini, kale,
chickpeas, and garlic with the olive oil. Season lightly with sea salt, pepper and a pinch of red pepper flakes and divide between two rimmed baking sheets. Broil each sheet, tossing halfway
through cooking, until the kale is crispy and the broccoli just tender and
charred but still bright green, about 5 minutes, rotating the trays top to
bottom if two don’t fit side by side in your oven. Squeeze the juice from two
lemon wedges all over the top and toss together.

Divide between two to four small plates and top each with
a dollop of ricotta. Sprinkle the ricotta with black pepper and drizzle each plate with oil. Serve warm or at room
temperature.

CRAZY GOOD CHICKPEAS

Start
with one 1-lb/455-g bag dried chickpeas and soak them in water overnight in a
medium soup pan or saucepan. The next day, bring them to a boil and skim off
the white foam after 5 minutes of cooking. Drain, rinse, and return them to the
pot. Cover with 4 cups/960 ml fresh water and throw in carrot, celery, onion, parsnip, thyme and bay leaf for extra flavor. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce to a simmer, add
¾ tsp salt, and cook until completely tender, about 45 minutes. Drain, reserv­ing
1 cup/240 ml of the cooking liquid for prepa­rations like Hummus. You should have about 6 cups/985 g of cooked chickpeas.

12.05.2013

It’s
never good to lie to your children. But, when you have an 11-pound box of chocolate pistoles and a three-year-old in the same room, you better be
prepared to fudge the truth a little. When Greta asked me what the not-so-inconspicuous (okay, enormous) glass jar on the counter was filled with, I said buttons. Which wasn’t entirely false.

Pistoles
are the chocolate disks that pastry chefs rely on as a quick
melting chocolate. They really do look like buttons, and at the time of my tiny untruth, I might have actually believed that pistoles meant button in French (Google has since set me straight: button is bouton).

Pistoles' uniform size and shape help them to melt consistently, eliminating the need for chopping chocolate from bars and blocks. I got hooked on them during my restaurant
days; they sustained me on the afternoons when I couldn’t stomach, say, tripe
stew another day for staff lunch. Once I discovered you could buy them online and keep them at home, too, I never looked back. I do sometimes use them as melting
chocolate, but I think they’re best employed as the ultimate chocolate chip.

I’ve
said many times before there are a lot of bad cookies out
there. There’s no reason for it. Cookies are easy. Cookies are your moment to shine, no matter how unaccomplished you deem yourself to be at
baking. They're your opportunity to play like a pastry chef and make something really
worthy of the beautiful glass cases that lure us through pastry shop
windows. That is the inspiration behind this, my latest chocolate chip cookie endeavor
(here’s my former one): a chunky, chubby chocolate-laced mouthful.

So
about that little fib: András, a more righteous soul than I, caught me in the lie,
confessed the truth to Greta, and she’s been asking for “one chocolate button”
in her lunchbox ever since. But here’s the good news: one chocolate pistoles is
pretty harmless—a perfect little treat, a treasure, a token easily given
without much backlash. And, even better news: when they’re
right there on the counter every day (all 11 pounds of them), they do kind of
loose their tempting charm. Except, of course, in these cookies, when they are
oozy and mysterious. They are the kind of thing that cause you to
pause and say “what is that chocolate
chip?” That’s your cue to explain, it’s not a chip at all, but a button—a lush,
decadent little buton chocolat.

Preheat the oven to
375°F/190°C/gas 5. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone
baking mats.

Pulse the almonds in a food
processor, stopping when the almonds are still coarse, with some powdery bits.

Whisk together the flour,
baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl. Beat together the butter and both
sugars in a large bowl with an electric mixer on medium speed until light and
fluffy, about 3 minutes. Beat in the egg yolks, two at a time, followed by the
vanilla. Add the flour mixture and beat until it just comes together, scraping
down the bowl as needed to make sure the butter is evenly incorporated. Give
the dough a final mix with a mixer or by hand.

Divide the dough in half in
the bowl (like splitting the Red Sea). Pour in half of the chocolate and half
of the ground almonds and give the dough a few strokes with a wooden spoon to
marble and streak the almonds and chocolate in. Add the remaining chocolate and
all but 2 to 3 tbsp of the ground almonds. Fold in loosely, but don’t mix in
completely, so that visible streaks of ground almonds remain throughout the
dough.

Scoop a heaping 1 tbsp of
dough and place on a prepared baking sheet. Repeat with the remaining dough, leaving
about 3 in/7.5 cm between cookies, until both baking sheets are full. Brush
each cookie with beaten egg, then sprinkle with ground almonds. Bake until the
cookies are set and golden around the edges, but still soft in the center,
about 10 minutes, switching the baking sheets between the top and bottom racks
halfway through cooking.

Let the cookies cool
slightly on the baking sheet, about 2 minutes. Transfer the cookies with a thin
spatula to a wire rack to cool, or just slide the parchment paper with the
cookies directly onto the wire rack. Let the baking sheets cool completely
before using to bake the remaining dough, lining with more parchment paper if
needed. Serve while the oozing chocolate layers are still warm. Store in an
airtight container for up to 2 days.

Sarah Copeland is a food and lifestyle expert, and the author of Feast: Generous Vegetarian Meals for Any Eater and Every Appetite, and The Newlywed Cookbook. She is the Food Director at Real Simple magazine, and has appeared in numerous national publications including Saveur, Health, Fitness, Shape, Martha Stewart Living and Food & Wine magazines.
As a passionate gardener, Sarah's Edible Living philosophy aims to inspire good living through growing, cooking and enjoying delicious, irresistible whole foods. She thrives on homegrown veggies, stinky cheese and chocolate cake. Sarah lives in New York with her husband and their young daughter.

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